


A Call to Arms

by OtterlyWasted



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Hybern, Prythian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 11:58:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19131571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtterlyWasted/pseuds/OtterlyWasted
Summary: What if Feyre decided to not stand on the sidelines during the first battle in book three A Court of Wind and Run? What if she decided to take to the fight in her own, unique way?I decided to take a small break from my other project (a retelling of ACOMAF from Rhysand's point of view) to write this short story up. I was not satisfied with the battle scenes ACOWAR, I really felt like Feyre was not given the opportunity to kick ass. In the second book, Rhys had suggested to Feyre that she might have the ability to freeze over an entire army... but we never get to see her try.I chose the first battle (not the one in Adriata), instead of the second battle, even though her help would have been more useful in the second battle, because... well I'm not sure why. Honestly, there would have been complications with either battle, so what the heck, I went with the first.I used bits and pieces from the actual book, but twisted things up to work the way I wanted.I did set it as mature because there are some mildly graphic depictions of violence, as well at the end I included the sex scene from the book, but in my own way and it isn't over the top explicit.I hope you enjoy!





	A Call to Arms

War was… awful. No, that’s not right, that word wasn’t strong enough – it was gut twisting, soul wrenchingly abhorrent.

Mor and I stood on a tree-covered hill, overlooking the battle, and every bloody second of it ripped my soul to shreds – and I was not even in the thick of it. We were both armed and armored, in case things went badly, in case there was a trap, but neither of us were expected to fight today. I was untried and untested, and it had been agreed that I should watch and learn instead, and Mor would remain behind as my guard, and my friend.

I had understood the logic of this decision – I had been receiving training in fighting, with both my magic and my sword, but my training could be measured in months instead of years – unlike most of the fae fighting down below. I was also High Lady, were I to fall in battle my death would not just impact Rhysand, or my family, it would send shock waves through our people that could be disastrous to their morale. So, it made sense to stand back and watch, even if just for this first battle.

It made sense… and it didn’t. Because those were _my_ people down there, not just fae from my Court, but fae from my home – Prythian. To stand back and do nothing… it ate at me, tore at me, ground me to nothing, until I was less than nothing.

I did quickly see that there was no place for me amongst the Illyrians – not only was my flying not strong enough, my reflexes not quick enough to keep up with them, but to hack away with sword and spear and shield over and over until you could no longer feel your arms or body. I had no experience with that, I was not even strong enough for that. Even Keir’s soldier fought in a way I had no training in, lined up in obedient rows, their shields up and interconnecting and hacking away in the same manner as the Illyrians, only on foot.

The battle in Adriata had been different, it was not facing off against an untold horde of soldiers standing side by side with your fellow soldiers, trusting in them as surely as you trusted in your own skills. It had been me and Mor, sweeping through the palace, wiping out small pockets of soldiers with our swords and magic, and I had been _good_ at that. Even the attack on Velaris I had held my own, entirely by myself, against the invading force of Hybern in the Rainbow.

Even knowing all of that… I watched as Rhys and Cassian and Azriel hammered at the army – they were easily recognizable amongst the Illyrians by their armor, and by their single-minded ferocity. Rhys alone stood out from the sheer power that radiated from him – it was glorious and beautiful and so very deadly. And as much as the fighting scared me, as much as I had no desire to kill anyone, despite what Hybern had done to my family and intended to do to my people and my former people, as much as I knew I had no place down there… I knew I _needed_ to help.

I could feel it in me, my power, bubbling up inside of me until it pulsed through my veins and danced over my skin. So maybe, I was not meant to fight as an Illyrian or as a Darkbringer, but I could fight in a way no other in Prythian, no other in the world, could. I could fight as Feyre, reborn from the power of seven High Lords. I could fight with fire and water, wind and ice, darkness and light, and shape-shifting.

I could vaguely hear Mor beside me, vaguely hear her calling my name through the rush of power in my ears – but I ignored her. I could not distract myself – what I would be doing would be hard, and it would have to be precise or I would risk harming my own people.

Along the other side of the battle field lay a shallow river, but it had water enough for me – it was a fair distance away, but I could still feel it. I cast my power out and reached for it, dove into it, twisted and swirled among the lazy current, and then _pulled._ I drew the water up and over the banks and spun it, molded it, until it took on the form of the water wolves, I had used in Velaris. They stretched and writhed and danced in place, as though anxious to join the battle. 

I had enough forethought to reach out to Rhy’s mind, _Rhys, inform the others – the wolves are coming._

And I cast him an image he had seen before in my mind, of my battle in Velaris, of the pack of wolves I had run with to track down the beasts that attacked our city. Shock echoed down our bond, tinged with delight, and agreement that he would inform our soldiers.

And then I released the wolves. 

They charged into the side of the Hybern army, driving into them with such speed and brutality that for an instant it felt like the battle froze in shock… and then the screaming resumed in earnest. My wolves leapt onto soldiers, enveloping them in water, not just surrounding them with it but actually clawing down their throats into their lungs, until they dropped their weapons and clawed at their throats. Until they dropped to their knees, and their eyes rolled back, and they fell to the ground, dead.

One after another they fell, and if a solider managed to shield just before an attack my wolves would simply move to another, and then another, working their way across the battlefield. Their path formed a small, tight wedge in the army, and I continued to drive them forward, creating more of them and plowed them into the army, until there were a great many of them near the middle mass of the Hybern army, weaving in and amongst them.

And then I released my hold over the shape of the water, and the wolves fell apart into a splash of water that hit the ground like a small wave, soaking the already muddy, trampled ground below. It turned the thick mud into a quagmire, and the soldiers sank down into it. The weight of their arms and armor tugging them down until they were stuck near to their calves in it, making their movements slow and arduous. I was not finished with them yet however – I could do more. This day of battle was hot, the sky clear and the sun punishing us with its heat – but inside of my there lived such icy rage.

Ice.

I cast out my power again, sinking down into the thickly mired mud that sucked at the soldier’s legs and slowed their movements – but did not stop them. With a twist of my power that turned from fluid as the water I had used before, to hard and crystal, I froze the water in the mud. The ground turned solid, and instead of slowing the movements of the soldiers it stopped them completely, trapped them in place. The water resisted being frozen – the air and ground were warm from the sun and the season, but I pushed hard against that heat. Fire was another of my gifts, and I splintered my power so that one part of it could swallow the heat of the day; I was not strong enough to turn this day into winter, but I could… dampen it.

The ground remained frozen, and a large, roughly circular swath of Hybern’s army was stuck in place, unable to advance or flee. I could see them using their weapons to hack at the ground, trying to free themselves, and ultimately bloodying themselves in the effort. The rest of the army – those I had not trapped, panicked. The realized, between my efforts and those of the Illyrians and Keir’s Darkbringers, they were losing. They began to flee, turning tail and running.

I would not allow that to happen.

I could feel exhaustion creeping into me, but I ignored it – there wasn’t time for it. I was juggling fire and ice already, managing them with smooth efficiency, but I was going to add another ball to the performance.

Wind.

The Illyrian’s powerful wings buffeted the air as they dove and swooped and attacked, they rode the currents of the wind, masters of the element. I was its master too – and while I still might not be able to fly as well as the rest of them, I could certainly soar among the wind in other ways.

I splinted off another portion of my power and it leapt into the sky and dove, soaring down until it swirled in front of the retreating army. I spread my power out around the field like a band – it was not long enough to trap the entire face of the army, my strength was beginning to run out, but it did cover a generous portion of it. I took in a deep breath, and as though my power mimicked my body, it sucked in the air around it, causing the grass and small bushes to rustle with the movement, and then I _pushed._

And the band of power I put in place became a solid wall of air – like the shield I had once made to protect myself in Tamlin’s study out of pure instinct, this one however was made with vicious intent. The retreating army slammed into it, and bounced back, the reverberation of their movements echoing through several rows of fleeing fae.

Pure panic rippled through them, and even at this distance I could _taste_ it. I could feel them pounding against the shield, with weapons and hands and magic. I knew instinctively that the shield would not last for long, it was too large, and I was fast becoming depleted – but it did not have to. I was not shielding them from something valuable, I was preventing them from fleeing. These precious minutes that I held them in place, most of them at least for a large contingent of them had raced along the edge of the shield and found where it ended and begun to flood around it, gave time for my army, for the Illyrians to swing around and meet them on the other side, and trap them from all sides.

When the Illyrians held solid against their retreat I finally released my control over the air, dropping the shield – causing no few of those shoved hard against it to stumble and fall to the ground and be nearly trampled by those behind - an advantage my armies used to its fullest.

Realizing their defeat, Hybern’s army began casting down their weapons and falling to their knees, begging for mercy.

It was only then I felt Mor touching my arm, shaking me, and heard her calling to me, “Feyre! Feyre enough! It’s done!" 

And with a gasp, I released my hold on the fire, and ice, letting the ground melt back into mud and mire, and I, I fell to my knees in the grass. My hands managed to catch me before I went down face first and panted for breath.

Mor crouched beside me, her hand on my back. Her voice held a note of awe to it, “Feyre… Feyre are you ok?”

Before I could respond I felt him, before I could lift my head, I heard him; his wings beating hard, and the sound of him landing firmly on the ground in front of me.

Rhysand.

“Mor, go help Cassian and Azriel with cleaning up,” his voice was rough with yelling, and husky with emotion.

I felt Mor rise from my side, walk a few steps, and winnow away. And then he was there, kneeling in front of me and his hands on my shoulders, lifting me up, supporting me. I felt his hand slide over my cheek, and then cup my chin and lift my tired head so that he could see my eyes, and I fell into pools of violet.

There was pride in them, and concern, and shock and awe… but mostly there was love, such all-encompassing love that it filled me with warmth and strength, and in between one heartbeat and the next, I was holding my own body up.

“Feyre…” he whispered, and before he could say more, I threw my arms around his neck and pulled him to me, hard and desperate, burying my face against his neck as I trembled. His arms wrapped around me, solid and warm, and held me against him. I was home, and the battle had been won, and he was _safe._

Nothing else in the world mattered for this moment.

It couldn’t last though, such things never did, but these moments did not always end in terror and grief, but sometimes just in practicality and duty. He drew back from me slowly, when my trembling had eased, and looked into my eyes again, his hands sliding up to cup my face.

A slow smile curved along his lips, “Feyre darling… you are… radiant." 

I let out a small laugh, tears welling up in my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall – not yet. Later.

“We have work to do,” I said quietly, and he nodded. He did not tell me no, to stay back here out of danger, he did not tell me I was too tired, he did not even ask me if I was. He trusted me to know myself and what I was capable of. He stood, and I did to, though I did take his proffered hand to do so. We stepped up to the edge of the hill and looked down over the terrible scene of battle, and his hand tightened around mine.

It was awful, and the screams of those injured and dying clung to the midday air, turning it heavy and nearly suffocating. This was battle was won, and the loss of life on our side minimal, but it was still terrible. I had not thought there was glory in battle before this but had there been even a glimmer of that lie still inside of me, this day would have utterly destroyed it.

I looked over at Rhys and knew he felt the same way.

He looked at me again, no smile on his face, and asked me quietly, “Where do you want to go? Down to the field, or to the medical tents?”

That had been the plan originally, after battle I was to return to the medical tents to help with the wounded – but he was giving me the choice, always my choice.

I decided, however, to stick with this plan. “The medical tents, I’ll be of more use there.”

A nod and he opened his arms to me, I stepped close and he held me as he winnowed me into the camp, into what was quickly becoming chaos. Leaning down, he kissed my forehead lightly, then stepped back, giving me a small smile, and winnowed away.

The next few hours were exhausting, in body and spirit. By the end I felt nearly numb with exhaustion and soaked near to the bone with the blood of the injured. When the healers finally ordered me to bed, an action which did manage to amuse me, I had stopped at a wash barrel and scrubbed the blood from my hands and arms. The trek across camp to the tent Rhys and I shared was arduous, and I might have just winnowed if my own powers hadn’t been so depleted from earlier in the day.

When I reached the tent it was dark inside, so I entered quietly and shed my clothes in a dirty pile on the floor. Walking to the edge of our pallet I lifted the blankets and slid in beside Rhys, who shifted and wrapped his arms around me, nuzzling his lips against my ear, “You smell like blood.”

A little surprised to find him still awake, I wrapped my arms around him and wiggled closer, feeling the warmth of his bare skin pressing against mine. “Sorry,” I murmured quietly, though I had been too tired to mess with a full bath.

He stroked a hand over my waist and down to my hip, “You must be exhausted.”

And I was, bone deep – and he should be as well. We had both spent our bodies and power today, and it was truly a wonder we had not passed out by now.

“And _you_ should be sleeping,” I admonished gently.

He hesitated a moment then answered, “Can’t.”

That made me lift my head a little, peering at his face through the heavy darkness of this near moonless night, “Why?”

I felt his fingers trace along my spine then, long, languorous touches that sent shivers racing through me, and caused my back to arch in response. 

“It takes a while – to settle myself after battle,” he explained quietly as he rolled closer to me then, and began to trace his lips along the curve of my jaw, and to my lips, whispering against them “And the sight of you, of what you did, of your powers…” He pressed his lips to mine, hard and hungry, and I responded in kind, meeting his growing passion with my own enflamed fervor.

He drew back, too soon for my happiness, and rested his forehead against mine, breathing quickly, sharing air with me, “If you’re too tired…”

And I was tired… but I needed him. I needed this: us, together, wrapped in each other, body and soul. 

I tilted my head and pressed my lips to his again, parting them to brush my tongue over the curve of his and felt his part to accept my tongue. I slid my body closer, running a foot over the curve of his leg as I hitched my thigh over his, half rolling on top of him. He groaned against me, his hand still on my hip, fingers tightening there, and pulling me the rest of the way on top of him. Our kiss did not break as I settled there, straddling him, feeling the hardness of his erection nestled between my thighs, pressing against my stomach.

He drew back from the kiss a little, and looked up at me, his eyes shining, and face flushed, and so heartbreakingly beautiful.

“Feyre…” He whispered and I kissed him again, lightly, before I whispered softly, “Shh…”

No words, not now, not when I needed him this much.

He understood, and we spoke with our bodies instead, in the touch of our hands as his reached up to cup my breasts and rubbed his thumbs over my nipples, causing me to gasp and arch against him; in the touch of our mouths, as I brushed my lips down the curve of his neck, kissing and licking, tasting the sweet salt of his flesh; in the joining of our bodies as I slid down onto him and he filled every inch of me. Our joining was hard and fast, gasping as we held tightly to each other, afraid to let go.

An act of love in defiance of death.

When we shattered, it was soul deep, and I was trembling on top of him, my face buried in his neck and his arms wrapped tightly around me, holding me firmly against him. 

Minutes passed before I finally pushed myself back up to look at him, and he reached up to brush his fingers over my face lightly.

“You,” he said quietly, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, “are simply amazing… I… when you reached out to me today, and told me what you were going to do… I never imagined what it would lead to…” 

He fell quiet, as though at a loss for words, and I pressed my cheek into the touch of his hand, thinking, then said, “I realized, watching the battle today, that there wasn’t a place for me in that kind of fighting. Not yet anyways, I don’t have the skill for it… but I couldn’t bear to just watch – those were my people fighting and dying, and I had to… I had to fight alongside them.” I swallowed, and suddenly the realization of what I had done today hit me.

Rhys saw the impact of it and pushed himself up, shifting me backwards on his lap, then reached up to cup my face with his hands, “So you made a place where you fit.” He smiled at me tenderly, “War is ugly, and messy, and unforgiving. You saw that today, became part of it today, and it will weigh on you for all of your remaining days.” Tears came to my eyes, the tears from earlier that I had not let fall and now rolled down my skin, over his hands that held me.

He wiped them away gently, lovingly, “But you can’t lose sight of the good you did today, of all the lives you saved. The deaths will weigh heavily, but the lives you saved should hold equal weight.”

I swallowed, and nodded, and he let my face go to pull me against him and I buried my face against his shoulder. He held me the rest of the night, keeping me close against him, and we slept and while I knew I dreamed of fire and water and ice and death… the warmth of him, and scent of his skin, kept the pain of it from overwhelming me.

We had won this battle, and though there were many more to come we would, as we always had, face them together.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new to fanfictions in general, but I've been working hard on my interpretations of this series, and loving every second of it.
> 
> I would love to hear your opinions, so hit me up!
> 
> I hope you have enjoyed this piece! - Otter


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